


Posthumous Forgiveness

by todxrxki



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, TW for minor character deaths, a character progression of kuroo over time, also CW for some parental neglect, and a little study of kuroken's relationship, this kind of turned into a study of why i ship kuroken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23941807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todxrxki/pseuds/todxrxki
Summary: But Kuroo’s just a child. A scared little child, now without a mother, and unsure that he ever had a father. He looks up at his father, hopeful that he’ll see something reassuring there, an indicator that he’s finally ready to step into his role.His father doesn’t look back. “I’ll try to be home more often for you,” he says, but it echoes like an empty promise into Kuroo’s ears. / A look into Kuroo Tetsurou's relationship with his father - and how he finds his own anchor to cling on to.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 35
Kudos: 219
Collections: kuroken lol screaming





	Posthumous Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the CW for minor character deaths and parental neglect.

And you could store an ocean in the holes  
In any of the explanations that you gave  
And while you still had time, you had a chance  
But you decided to take all your sorrys to the grave  
Did you think I'd never know? Never wise up as I grow?

\- _Posthumous Forgiveness,_ Tame Impala

“Mama! Mama! Mama!” 

“Yes, Tetsu-chan? Is something wrong?”

“Where’s Papa? Is he home yet?”

“He just called, honey. He has to work late tonight. He’ll probably be home after you fall asleep.”

“He said we’d go to the park tonight, though! Just me ‘n him!”

“Baby, he’s not going to make it home in time for that. I can take you to the park though! How does that sound? Tetsu and Mama can go to the park together for a couple of hours before dinner.”

“...Okay, Mama.”

“Tetsu, your father loves you so much. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“He works so much so that he’ll have enough money to take care of us. You must remember that. We’re lucky to have someone that cares this much about us, okay?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Now come on, let’s go to the park already before it gets dark.”

  
  


.

Kuroo stares at the grave in front of him. The plot is brown, still - covered in dirt. He knows he should be crying, feels the sinking feeling of loss deep in his gut, but all he can do is stare. He can't help but feel like an awful child. Any good son would be sobbing about right now. 

But he just stares. 

“Tetsurou,” comes a deep voice from beside him, and Kuroo glances over to see his father beside him. He drapes his arm around Kuroo’s shoulders. “Are you… doing okay?”

Kuroo’s chest tightens.  _ Do you care?  _ He wants to ask.  _ Do you want to be a part of my life all of a sudden? You want to actually be my dad now?  _ But his father is the only one he has left now. So he says, “I’m fine,” and doesn’t recognize the cold tone of his own voice. 

“Ah, well, that’s good,” his father says, squeezing his shoulder. He looks as though he’s about to say something more, maybe something that might actually help Kuroo for once in his life, but then he closes his mouth. After a quiet second passes between the two of them, he mumbles, “We’ll be okay.”

Kuroo’s mouth twists downwards.  _ You’ll be okay,  _ he thinks bitterly.  _ It’s not like she was a big part of your life anyways. You’ll be just the same as ever.  _

But Kuroo’s just a child. A scared little child, now without a mother, and unsure that he ever had a father. He looks up at his father, hopeful that he’ll see something reassuring there, an indicator that he’s finally ready to step into his role.

His father doesn’t look back. “I’ll try to be home more often for you,” he says, but it echoes like an empty promise into Kuroo’s ears. 

A single, hot, angry tear drifts out of Kuroo’s right eye. He furiously wipes it away.

.

Kuroo picks up the picture frame from his dresser. It’s a photo from back when he was a toddler. He’s being held by his mother, who is beaming at him as always, while his father has one strong, supportive hand on his back. And behind them is the house they’ve lived in ever since he was born. The house that he took his first steps in, the house where he’d played with all of his favorite toys, the house that his  _ mother  _ had played with him in. 

Not that it matters to his father. Not that it has ever mattered, apparently. Because his father had gotten some stupid new job in stupid Tokyo and now everything Kuroo’s ever known is being ripped away from him. No more volleyball club, no more friends, no more reminders of his mother in the hidden corners of his home.

He sets the photo down inside the box and tapes the box shut. The photo’s painful to look at, but Kuroo can't help but feel it’d be even more painful to get rid of it. These reminders are all he has left.

“Tetsurou,” comes the loud bellow up the stairs. “You’d better be done packing. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes. Anything else gets left behind.”

“I’ll be ready,” Kuroo yells back down, but his mouth twists into a frown. He wants to yell, to scream, to cry, to be allowed to be a child for five more minutes. But instead, he grabs the few last possessions he’s left behind and loads them into a box. 

The ride to the new house is long. Kuroo stares out the window, watching as everything he’s ever known gets left behind him and fades into a blur of colors. He turns back around in his seat and slumps down, crossing his arms.

“You’ll like Tokyo,” his father says matter-of-factly. “There’s more to do there. More kids to hang out with.”

“I don’t wanna hang out with other kids,” Kuroo responds. “I wanna hang out with my volleyball team back home.”

“I know,” his father says, and for a moment his voice sounds almost soft. But then he hardens up again, switching back into the role of shrewd businessman. “But Tokyo is your home now. I’m sure you’ll find friends there. And I’m sure there are plenty of volleyball clubs for young boys like you there.”

Kuroo doesn’t want to join any other volleyball clubs, though. He doesn’t like new places. He knows he won’t enjoy being the new kid, the odd man out of the group. He doesn’t want to feel even more like an alien than he already does.

But what choice does he have? He’s already on the way to Tokyo. He has no control over it, the same way he has no control of most things in his life. He frowns and turns back to look out the window. 

“Mama,” he whispers against the glass. “Watch over me?”

.

The new house feels empty. Even when they unload all of their furniture into every empty crevice, even when his grandparents show up with smiles full of pity and hugs that feel forced, there’s always something missing that stops the house from feeling like home. His dad keeps coming in and asking him to unpack, but Kuroo just can’t make himself do it. Unpacking would feel a lot like giving in. Kuroo doesn’t want to give in to Tokyo being his ‘home’ just yet.

“We could have dinner together,” Kuroo suggests on their third night in Tokyo. Maybe since this is a new start, they can try again. Maybe. “I can help! I can make sandwiches or somethin’!” 

His father shakes his head. “Sorry. Too much paperwork tonight,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “But I’ll make you a sandwich if you want one. That show you like is on TV.”

Kuroo drops his shoulders. Maybe not, then. Maybe things will be exactly the same as they’ve always been.

And then his father’s parents move in.

He doesn’t know his grandparents on his father’s side all that well. Growing up, it had always been his mother’s family he’d been around, his sweet  _ obaa-chan  _ who’d read him stories and give him little candies, and his cantankerous yet caring  _ ojiichan  _ who’d give him money to buy himself something from the store. He doesn’t know the  _ obaa-san  _ and  _ ojiisan  _ who ruffle his hair and then head off to one of their social events. 

There are more people than ever in his house, and yet it feels even emptier than before.

He goes to school each day. School is miserable; Kuroo finds. He hates being there. He hates that none of the people make an effort to talk to him, nor does he make an effort to talk to them. He hates that his friends aren’t there. He comes home and makes himself dinner every night, totes it over to eat in front of the empty TV. His grandparents are out for a walk or something; his father is in his home office. It’s just Kuroo. It’s always just Kuroo.

And then he meets Kozume Kenma. 

It starts when his father says he’s going to meet the next-door neighbors. “You should come along,” his father says stiffly. “I believe I’ve seen a boy about your age living there.”

Kuroo doesn’t care. He puts his head on his knees and shakes his head. “I’m okay,” he mutters. 

“I take it back, then,” his father says. “You’re coming with me.” He takes hold of Kuroo’s arm. “You need to make friends.”

“I have friends,” Kuroo mutters. “Back  _ home. _ ”

“Yes, well, you don’t live there anymore,” comes his father’s response. “And it’s about time you made some friends here. So you’ll come with me, and you’ll not say another word about it.”

So Kuroo goes because he’s not sure what else he can do. He hides behind his father’s legs as his father introduces himself to the woman next door, but then, when the woman introduces her son, he peers out and makes eye contact with the boy. The boy stares back, his eyes big. “This is my son, Kozume Kenma,” the woman says. 

He gets forced to follow Kozume Kenma to his room. Kenma doesn’t really say a lot, and neither does Kuroo. He’s not interested in making friends with some random neighbor kid. Then Kenma pulls out a video game and asks Kuroo if he wants to play.

Kuroo’s never had a video game before. His parents were strong believers in kids playing outside, living the natural lifestyle. But there’s something open in Kenma’s gaze that makes Kuroo want to accept. So he does.

Kenma, Kuroo learns very quickly, isn’t like his friends back home. He’s quieter, for one. He plays video games and isn’t fond of outdoor sports. But he’s also incredibly smart. The way he looks at Kuroo sometimes makes Kuroo think that he might actually be able to read minds. He knows things about Kuroo before Kuroo even says them. He’s… actually interesting, Kuroo finds. 

So Kuroo introduces volleyball to him. 

Kenma asks him if he wants to play anything else, and Kuroo runs back home, scooping up his volleyball before he darts back over. He stares at Kenma with big, hopeful eyes. Honestly, he’s not expecting Kenma to say yes. He’s aware that Kenma’s not exactly an athlete. But, by some miracle, Kenma agrees. 

They head out to a park nearby, Kuroo toting the volleyball under his arm. Kenma’s never played before, so Kuroo has to teach him everything. He teaches him how to pass the ball and how to toss the ball. Half the time, the ball hits Kenma flat in the face, and although Kuroo tries, he can’t stop himself from laughing. Kenma stares at him for a second, his eyes big, before he dissolves into laughter too. Hearing Kenma’s quiet laugh only makes Kuroo laugh more. 

He laughs until his cheeks hurt, until tears pop up in his eyes and his chest aches. It’s the first time in a long time he’s laughed like this. It’s the first time in a long time he’s actually felt like the child he is.

And so he finds he really enjoys hanging out with Kenma. Kenma is funny; Kenma plays volleyball with him; Kenma watches volleyball games with him and offers his own commentary, which is surprisingly insightful. Kenma doesn’t make him miss his friends at home or his mother any less, but he provides a welcome distraction.

It starts off with Kuroo going over to Kenma’s once a week, but Kuroo quickly notices that things are different at Kenma’s house. Every night, Kenma’s parents sit at the dinner table with him. They actually speak to Kenma; they ask him about his day and the things he’s interested in. In typical Kenma fashion, Kenma answers them noncommittally, but they just grin and continue the conversation nonetheless. They feel like a real family. Kuroo can’t help but be drawn to them.

He starts going over more often, two times, then three times a week, building up until he’s there almost every night. One night, it seems almost like his dad is going to stop him. “Where are you going now?” he says as Kuroo pulls open the door.

“The Kozumes’ place,” Kuroo says. “Just next door.”

“You’re over there a lot, aren’t you?” his father says. “You and that Kenji boy must be getting along well.”

“Yes, we are,” Kuroo says, not bothering to correct him on Kenma’s name. He gets the feeling his father wouldn’t remember anyway. “I’ll see you later.”

“Tetsurou,” his father calls. Kuroo looks back at him, waiting, almost  _ hoping.  _ “Stay safe,” is what his father closes with.

Hope is a fragile thing. Kuroo’s hope has already been crushed too many times to count. 

“Okay,” he says, his voice dead, and he walks over to Kenma’s. Kenma takes one look at him and asks if he wants to play volleyball. Kenma’s always been good like that: good at reading people, Kuroo in particular, but also just good in general. A good friend.

Kenma’s his friend, Kuroo realizes. His first friend in Tokyo: a quiet, game-obsessed boy with long, shaggy hair to hide his face and the greatest mind Kuroo’s possibly ever seen. It’s not what he’d expected, but it’s more than he could’ve asked for.

.

Kenma asks him one day about his dad, in his typical blunt way. “You’re always here,” he says in between mashing buttons on his controller. “Doesn’t your dad worry?”

“No, probably not,” Kuroo says. Kenma throws him a glance - a glance telling him to go on, and so Kuroo does. “He doesn’t really care that much about what I do. He’s always workin’ and stuff, so we don’t really talk that much.”

“And you don’t live with your mom.”

“She died,” Kuroo blurts out before he can think about if it’s the right thing to say. “She died a year ago, right before we moved here.” His voice drops. “I miss her.”

“Oh,” Kenma says. “I see.” He takes a second to pause, like he’s processing his thoughts on the matter. Kuroo watches him, wonders what he’s going to say until Kenma finally speaks. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Kuroo says. “But that’s why I don’t like being at home. It feels lonely.”

Kenma lifts one shoulder and then drops it. “Then you can stay here,” he says simply, as though it’s just a statement of fact. “My parents are fine with it. They like you.” He wrinkles up his nose. “For some reason.”

“Hey, you brat,” Kuroo says, elbowing him lightly. He finds himself smiling, though, despite himself. It’s easy, being here. It’s easy, being with Kenma and his parents, eating at the dinner table with them, coming up to play video games with Kenma afterwards. It distracts him from everything else in his life: from the cold empty house, from his absent father and grandparents, from the lonely days at school, from missing his mother. It’s his solace. 

Kuroo wants to hang on to it for as long as he possibly can.

.

It’s Kenma who brings up that Kuroo should look for a team to play volleyball with, and it’s Kuroo who shoots it down at first. He doesn’t do well in new places, after all. But then he thinks for a second.  _ Kenma  _ is playing volleyball now too. It would be easier, he thinks, to join the team if Kenma joined with him. 

And he’s heard about a volleyball club for kids his age that meets on Sundays in the area. In a rare show of interest in Kuroo’s life, or maybe in an attempt to get Kuroo to stop moping, his father had told him about it. But Kuroo had refused to go back then. He’d said he wasn’t interested in replacing what he used to have. Now he has Kenma, though… and it's possible that things could be different.

“Are you free this Sunday?” he asks.

He’s not expecting Kenma to agree, especially once he explains his plan to join a volleyball club. But Kenma stares at him, his gaze searching, and Kuroo’s not sure what exactly he sees in Kuroo’s eyes but he nods. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll go.”

He does. He goes with Kuroo to the gym, encouraging him to take that first step to walk through the door, despite his anxiety. He’s nervous the whole time he’s there, especially when he meets the legendary Coach Nekomata that had brought his team to Nationals. He watches Kuroo as he practices hitting. It’s comforting to have Kenma by his side, Kuroo thinks. It’s nice to feel like someone is supporting him. It’s nice to turn around and see a friendly face. 

He heads home that night with a light heart. He feels light enough even to call “Good night” to his father, since his grandparents are already fast asleep, and his heart doesn’t even sink that much at the lack of response.

He’s found his own passion. It’s time for him to take the first step to become more of the person he dreams of being - with Kenma by his side.

.

Kuroo’s tenth birthday rolls around. He’s not sure what he’s expecting; the transition into double-digits sounds cool in theory, but he knows that it can’t actually be that different from being nine. Still, on his tenth birthday, he runs to the mirror and looks at himself. Just in case he’s gotten a little taller.

He hasn’t. He pouts at his reflection, then steps back.

There’s a big part of him that doesn’t want to go downstairs. Despite the past few years, there’s a small ray of hope that dwells within him, a part of him that has yet to be destroyed. He fears that having his birthday ignored will be the final straw that breaks his back. 

Still, he heads downstairs, feigning a smile as he walks into the kitchen. No one says anything at first - his grandfather continues reading the morning paper, his grandmother sipping tea, his father scribbling away at some work thing. Kuroo clears his throat. “Good morning.”

“Oh, good morning, Tetsurou,” his father says. There’s a pause for a couple of seconds before he says, “Happy birthday.”

He’d remembered.  _ He’d remembered.  _ Excitement strikes his heart like a lightning bolt. His father had remembered! Maybe this year he could actually have a birthday celebration like he used to when he was a kid. Maybe someone would bake him a cake; maybe they could sit down and eat as a family, like the families he sees on TV. He grins. “Oh, thanks! I was hoping maybe we could - “

“And I’m sorry, but today is the busiest day of the quarter,” his father says. “So, unfortunately, I won’t be home tonight, and your grandparents have an important meeting they can’t possibly miss. But you’ll be okay by yourself, right? I’ll leave a treat in the refrigerator for you, and we can celebrate another night!”

Kuroo feels his body deflate all at once, like he’s made of pure air and someone’s stuck a pin into him. He tries to manage a smile, but it doesn’t quite work. “Yeah, I guess.”

His father smiles back. “I’m really sorry, Tetsurou.”

He’s not. If he were truly sorry, he would’ve made some modicum of effort in the ten years Kuroo had been alive. But he’d never once made an effort, not even when Kuroo’s mother had died, and so Kuroo can’t bring himself to believe him. 

“It’s fine,” Kuroo says, even though it’s not. “Actually, I’m not feeling too good. I think I might be sick.”

“You should go lay down,” his grandmother says. “It’s the first day of school you’ve missed this year, so I’m sure it should be fine. I’ll bring you some soup.”

She does, in fact, bring him some soup before she leaves, but then she does leave, and Kuroo’s all alone. It’s his worst birthday so far, he thinks gloomily as he dozes back off to sleep. He spends hours staring at his ceiling and then kicking around a soccer ball once he wakes up, but then he hears a soft knock on his bedroom door.

He recognizes the knock immediately.

“Come in,” he calls, and Kenma walks in, carrying something precariously on a plate towards him. 

“You weren’t at school today,” Kenma says.

“No.” Kuroo feigns a probably unconvincing cough. “I’m sick.”

Kenma eyes him, then shakes his head. “You’re not sick. Something’s wrong. But I guess we can talk about that later.” He shrugs one shoulder at the plate. “This is for you. Happy birthday, Kuro.”  _ Kuro  _ \- the nickname Kenma’d given him when they’d first met for whatever reason or maybe no reason at all, but he’d kept using it until now, months and months later. 

“You brought me a little cake?” Kuroo says, his voice hushed.

“My mom did, actually,” Kenma says. “I tried to help, but I’m no good at baking.”

“Still. You told her it was my birthday, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Kenma replies, glancing away. “I mean, I wanted you to have something today. It’s your tenth birthday.” 

Kuroo feels overwhelmed all of a sudden. His friends back home had been great, but they’d never done anything like  _ this  _ for him. He’s never really had anyone who’d do something like this for him, save for his mom, and his mom had been obligated to. Kenma has no obligation, but here he is. He can feel the tears spring to his eyes. 

“Don’t cry,” Kenma admonishes him.

“I’m not,” Kuroo protests, rubbing at his eyes with his fists. “I’m not a crybaby.”

“Sure,” Kenma says teasingly.

“You gonna sing for me?”

“Probably not,” Kenma says matter-of-factly. “But… you should eat the cake. It’s your birthday, after all.” 

Kuroo grins as he takes the cake from Kenma. “Come split it with me,” he says, and Kenma does, and suddenly Kuroo’s birthday isn’t so bad after all.

.

Kuroo makes it to middle school, and then joins the middle school volleyball team. It’s the first time he’s been eligible to play for an actual school team. Kuroo takes home his first jersey and stares at his own reflection in front of the mirror. He looks older in the jersey: like he’s almost to teenagehood.

However, joining the team comes with its own set of problems. For one, Kuroo’s middle school isn’t exactly  _ great  _ at volleyball. His team members are good people, but they’re not especially outstanding. And being in Tokyo, even a lot of the middle schools have prodigious volleyball players. Kuroo wouldn’t call himself a sore loser, but it’s not easy to keep on going when they get crushed every single time.

He comes home after a particularly rough game. No one’s there save for his grandfather, who’s on the couch, reading some old novel. He glances up at Kuroo and says, “Hello.” 

“Good evening,  _ ojiisan, _ ” Kuroo says respectfully. His grandfather goes back to reading the paper. There’s no comfort to be found here, Kuroo realizes quickly.

So he sets down his belongings in his room and heads next door.

He doesn’t say anything to Kenma, just sits down on his floor, his head muddled with depressing thoughts and memories of the game. But he doesn’t have to say anything: not to Kenma. Kenma glances up at him and asks, “Do you want to go level up?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo says, knowing what he means even without further explanation. He grabs the volleyball, and they head outside. With Kenma’s tosses, Kuroo practices his hits, practices his jumps, and later, practices his receives too. With Kenma here with him, he feels the weight on his chest start to dissipate. There’s no real explanation. It’s just… Kenma. Kenma’s presence. Something about Kenma.

He’s grateful, now more than ever. It’s nice having someone to come back to.

.

The next year, Kenma joins his middle school’s volleyball team at Kuroo’s insistence. Kuroo almost feels bad about making Kenma join him, but he knows Kenma well enough at this point to know Kenma doesn’t do things he doesn’t want to do. When his parents insisted that Kenma couldn’t stay up late playing video games, Kenma woke up early instead to play. Kenma finds ways out of things he actually doesn’t want to do.

Which means that he probably doesn’t mind playing with Kuroo all that much.

“My parents want to come watch a game,” Kenma mutters one day after practice.

“Hm?” Kuroo asks. “Are you gonna let them?”

“It’s not like I can stop them,” Kenma says. “But it’ll be embarrassing if we lose.” His mouth twists downwards. 

“Which we probably will,” Kuroo finishes, because he figures that Kenma’s not actually going to say it - maybe out of courtesy to Kuroo, probably not out of optimism, because Kenma’s assessments of games are always based on pure logic. 

Kenma nods. “Exactly. But I guess they’ll come if that’s what they want to do. They won’t listen to me telling them not to.” He glances over at Kuroo. “Does your dad want to come see you play? Or your grandparents?”

Kuroo paints on a sunny smile, even though Kenma can see right through it. “No,” he says. “They don’t.”

He’d tried asking a couple of times last year. He’d drawn up a schedule of all the games he’d known about at the time and presented it to his father. His father had glanced at it for a couple of seconds before he’d said, in a way that sounded half-apologetic, “I’ll try my best to make it to a game or two, but you know I’m really busy…”

“I know,” Kuroo had replied, his voice tight as it escaped his throat. He hadn’t expected anything more. His father, in his usual fashion, would promise to  _ try,  _ but his promises were empty. And sure enough, his father hadn’t shown up to a single one. Neither had his grandparents. 

This year Kuroo hadn’t even bothered to ask.

“Well,” Kenma says, “my parents are excited to see you play.”

Kuroo laughs. “What, did you tell them how amazing of a player I am?”

Kenma scowls at him. But when Kenma’s parents come to watch their game, they ask him to go to dinner with them afterwards, and at Kenma’s glare, Kuroo accepts. They ask him questions about the game, about how school is going, and Kuroo answers eagerly. He likes talking to the Kozumes. He likes feeling like a part of something.

Even if it’s not his own family. Even if his own family doesn’t care, at least someone out there does.

.

In his third year of middle school, Kuroo gets elected captain of the middle school volleyball team. He doesn’t tell anyone. The only person he cares to tell is already at the meeting, nodding his support as the team elects him captain. 

“You really think I can do this?” Kuroo asks after the meeting.

“I know you can,” Kenma says. “You’re obnoxious about volleyball.”   
  


“Is that all you need to be a captain?!”

“People will listen to you,” comes Kenma’s quiet response. “You’ll see.”

It turns out that it’s easier than Kuroo had thought it would be to be the captain. He’s used to taking care of himself, and it extends easily to taking care of and directing other people. Being captain helps him to feel more comfortable in his own skin and with the people around him. They don’t win a lot of games, to be fair, but they win more than the past years, and that’s enough to help him feel good about being the captain. 

It’s during this year that Kuroo also realizes something about Kenma: namely, that Kenma is an even more brilliant strategist than he’d imagined. The games that they win aren’t because of Kuroo; they’re because Kenma develops strategies for the team. He plays at the setter at Kuroo’s suggestion. Kenma’s not especially athletic, but his mind makes up for it all: he knows how to direct the team, what the best moves to use, what the other team’s weaknesses are. He finds himself a little in awe of his best friend, and of the fact that Kenma’s able to communicate with them decently despite his original fears. 

His middle school years aren’t the best years of his life, but they’re not the worst.

And then high school rolls around.

.

His first day of high school starts like any other day. He gets himself up and ready for school, a routine he’s been following for years now. He makes himself breakfast, keeping it balanced and healthy so that he can have sufficient energy for volleyball later that day. He stares at himself in the mirror again. He’s much taller than back on the first day of middle school now, much more lean. His body looks like that of an older teenager now, but he still feels like a thirteen-year-old inside, young and insecure. He just doesn’t feel like he’s ready.

And, as the day goes on, it becomes glaringly obvious that he’s not ready. 

There are a lot of new people at school. The classes are filled with people he’s never seen before. The classes are more difficult than they were in middle school: not too difficult for Kuroo, he doesn’t think, but it becomes obvious that he’s going to have more work to do than in middle school. And then there’s volleyball practice.

The upperclassmen here aren’t as nice as they’d been in middle school. They’re hyper-focused on winning, which Kuroo supposes makes sense with a school with a history like Nekoma’s, with a coach like Nekomata. And Nekomata is great, of course, but he doesn’t see all the actions of the upperclassmen. They make him do all the dirty work and harass him in a way that’s meant to seem ‘friendly’ but doesn’t come off that way. The people in his year don’t seem the most tolerable, either, or at least one of them doesn’t. Yaku loves to argue with Kuroo, and Kuroo is more than happy to dish it right back out. He can’t see them ever getting along. 

He comes home tired and defeated, but doesn’t even bother going to his own house. Instead, he goes to Kenma’s house. He doesn’t knock - Kenma’s parents aren’t home from work yet, he knows. He walks straight into Kenma’s room and lies down on Kenma’s bed. Kenma, who’s seated on the ground, looks up at him. “That bad, huh,” he asks softly. 

“That bad,” Kuroo says, even though he probably doesn’t need to say it, because Kenma can tell from the look on his face. “I can’t go back tomorrow. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Kenma asks. 

“I’m just not ready,” Kuroo responds. “For any of it. There’s too many new people, too many new things, and I don’t do well with that stuff, you know.”

“Kuro,” Kenma says patiently. “It’s the first day. Everyone feels like that.”

“Yeah, well,” Kuroo says bitterly, “not everyone has absolutely no one to give them advice on how high school is.”

There’s silence for a second. Kuroo imagines that Kenma doesn’t know what to say; it’s difficult, he’s sure, to argue with the truth. Kuroo frowns, burying his head back into his pillow. He’s not sure what exactly what he was expecting, but he wants - he wants - 

A warmth spreads across Kuroo’s back all of a sudden. He jumps, afraid of what exactly it could be, but when he turns he sees that Kenma’s beside him, his arms wrapped around Kuroo.  _ A hug,  _ Kuroo realizes. 

He hasn’t been hugged in a long time.

Slowly, with the feeling of Kenma’s arms around him, he relaxes into the hug, his own arms coming up to wrap around Kenma’s back. Kenma nestles his head into Kuroo’s chest. Unintentionally, Kuroo feels his eyes flooding with tears. God, he’s such a baby, he thinks. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Kenma mutters against his chest. “Just be your obnoxious self or whatever.”

“You think I’m obnoxious?” Kuroo sniffs into Kenma’s hair. 

“I know you’re obnoxious.”

“Rude,” Kuroo says, and then, after a minute: “I can’t wait till you’re there next year.”

“I will be,” Kenma says, and it feels like a promise: an anchor for Kuroo to cling onto.

.

The year continues, and little by little, things get better. Kuroo feels more comfortable. He finds that he really enjoys chemistry and begins studying it even outside of school. Suddenly it feels nice, sometimes, to have a quiet place at home where he can relax and immerse himself in the world of chemistry. It makes the house feel less empty. He becomes more comfortable in the volleyball team, befriending Kai and even, somehow, beginning to tolerate Yaku.

However, something else occurs at school that year: Kuroo finds that more and more of his classmates are becoming interested in romance. The guys chatter about the prettiest girls in school; some daring people even hold hands in the hallways at school. It forces Kuroo to think for the first time about romance. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have a pair of married parents, but it’s never something he’s put all that much thought into. It’d be nice to date someone, to have someone care about him that way, but he doesn’t think it’s a priority for him. And to be honest, he doesn’t even know who he’d date.

Plus there’s the fact that Kuroo doesn’t think he’d be the best lover. He’s never had that kind of relationship modeled for him: well, his grandparents, but he doesn’t see his mother’s parents anymore and he’s not sure he enjoys the dynamic between his father’s parents, a dynamic that seems steeped in inequality. He thinks he could be better than his father had been to his mother. But who knows? Maybe history will repeat itself.

For that reason, he rejects the first few girls who approach him. They don’t seem like his type, anyways - not that he knows what his type is, really, but apparently he knows who  _ isn’t  _ his type. But then a girl from the girls’ volleyball team approaches him. She’s in his class and just asks him about how the boys’ team is doing at first. As time goes on, though, she speaks to him more and more, and Kuroo finds he genuinely likes her. She’s kind and funny and easy to talk to. Whether he actually likes her romantically, he’s not sure. It’s not like he has anyone to ask. 

So when she confesses to him, he accepts. He figures he might as well give it a shot.

But, unfortunately, it’s nothing like he thought it would be. She always feels one step out of reach; he always falls one step behind. The gap between them becomes too obvious. He finds it awkward to try to talk to her seriously. And he just doesn’t have that much time to spend with a girlfriend, in between volleyball practices and hanging out with Kenma and school. 

She’s the one to end it, mercifully. She tells him that she “doesn’t think it’s working out” and “hopes they can still be friends”, and Kuroo can do nothing but agree.

Kenma’s the first one to ask him about it. Kenma, of course, is the only one to notice something is off. Kuroo sighs when he does and says, “She broke up with me.”

“She dumped you?” Kenma asks, much less tactfully.

“It was kind of mutual, honestly,” Kuroo says. “I didn’t have much time to spend with a girlfriend anyways, between volleyball and school and stuff. It was for the best.”

“Then why do you seem so off?”

Kuroo sighs. “I just.. I’m starting to think that there’s something wrong with me. Shouldn’t I be more interested in dating and things like that?”

Kenma’s quiet for a second, then his mouth tilts downwards. “You’re sixteen, Kuro. You have plenty of time to find someone you’re actually interested in.”

His father is the next one to confront him about it, though. “One of my coworkers was talking about you today, you know,” he says, launching into the conversation without even a greeting. “He said you’re dating the daughter of one of his friends.”

“Were,” Kuroo corrects. “We broke up yesterday.”

“Ah,” his father says. “Was there… any particular reason, or…”

Kuroo simply shrugs in response. "I didn't really have time to actually date anyone. I wanted to concentrate on school and volleyball and that kind of stuff."

"Ah, I see," his father replies. "You know, you're a good boy, Tetsurou. A good son."

Five years ago, Kuroo would've been ecstatic upon hearing that. Five years ago, he might've taken the words at surface level and finally felt as though he was getting somewhere with his father. Five years ago, Kuroo might have been fooled.

But sixteen-year-old Kuroo knows what that means. He knows it means "You're an easy child, Tetsurou. You don't make me actually parent you." He knows it means "You take care of yourself and make things easier for me." He knows it's from a place of pure selfishness. So all it serves to do is make him angry.

"Thanks," he says emotionlessly.

His father pauses again. "I'm sure you'll find someone in the future. But you know, you can always talk to me, uh, about these types of things."

_I can't talk to you if I never see you_ , Kuroo thinks. He nods, though. It's better not to argue with him. It's better to just... pretend. "Okay," he says and walks off, fire brewing hot in his stomach. 

He’ll find another way to release the anger - someone else to take it out on. He’ll make it out one of these days.

.

However, even this is not the blessing Kuroo had been hoping for. Some of the obnoxious senpai had graduated, but some of them stay behind, and the third years are cruel especially to Kenma. Kenma has always had a disdain for age-hierarchy based authority. This carries into volleyball. It's never bothered Kuroo, of course - Kenma has always been Kenma to him, not one of his 'kouhai'. However, for senpai like those on the current Nekoma team, it turns out to be a problem.

"They make me run more than the other first-years," Kenma complains one day. "And do all their dirty work. I hate it."

And even beyond that, Kenma has a problem getting along with one of the other first-years. Yamamoto Taketora is an antithesis to Kenma: everything Kenma's not. He believes in 'willpower' above all else, a theory that Kenma despises. It gets to the point that Kenma even yells in his face. And Kuroo can't help but feel guilty: guilty as he watches Kenma gripe about Yamamoto, guilty as Kenma catches a fever from all the work he's been doing. He should be able to protect Kenma from all of this.

Somehow, Kenma catches onto this idea, because he looks down at Kuroo from where he sits on his bed and says, "Stop feeling guilty."

"Huh?" Kuroo says, twisting around to face him. "How did you know?"

"You've been making that stupid moping face for an hour now," Kenma gripes. "Seriously, Kuro. I joined the team because I wanted to. You don't have to feel bad about it."

"But... the upperclassmen. And Yamamoto. And everything. I should be able to help you, Kenma, since I'm the one who -"

"Who was there to help you last year?"

Kuroo pauses. "Well, no one. But... you helped." 

"How did I help? I wasn't even on the team then."

"You cheered me up. Distracted me from the bad things on my mind."

"Exactly," Kenma says. "And that's what you do for me. You don't have to protect me though. I can take care of myself."

Kuroo takes the time to look at him - at his Kenma. Kenma's grown up a lot, he thinks. He's still not as tall as Kuroo, but he may never be. Still, there's something in his eyes, in the way he speaks, in the way he's confident enough to yell in the face of Yamamoto when he pisses him off that just makes him seem older. Like he can take care of himself.

He exhales. "Yeah," he says. "You're right. I'm sorry." 

"You don't have to be sorry," Kenma says quietly. "I know your intentions are good."

The corner of his mouth turns up. It's unconventional positive feedback, that's for sure, but coming from Kenma, it means more. They'll make it through this year.

And then next year, everything will be different. Kuroo swears it to himself.

.

The next year, Kuroo is elected captain of the Nekoma volleyball team. He'd both been expecting it and not been expecting it, so he's mildly surprised. He tries to argue with the coaches, but they push back at him, telling him that it could only be him. Kenma's glad that it's Kuroo: it's obvious in his eyes. So he stops refusing. He builds the team around Kenma, around Nekoma's brain, just the way it should've always been.

Being the captain of the volleyball team feels like being a parent in some ways. He's constantly having to look after the first-years who are honestly pretty difficult, especially those like Lev. He finds himself emulating a lot of his mother's behaviors... but also, at times, his father's.

"What do you want, Lev?" he snaps once before a big game. "We've got just weeks before our first qualifiers match. I need to study these tapes."

And then he sees it. He sees the hurt in Lev's big eyes, the same expression that he himself had worn at a child when his father had told him he was too busy, to go away. Regret floods him immediately as Lev says, "Sorry, Kuroo-san. I just wanted to ask if you had any extra water, but I'll -"

"No, it's fine. Sorry. I'm just stressed. There's some extra bottles in my locker."

Kenma shakes his head when Kuroo tells him about this. "You aren't like your father."

"I have his genes," Kuroo protests. "It's only logical that I could turn out like him."

"You could," Kenma agrees, "but you won't. Think about it. Do you think your father has the self-awareness to know that he's hurting you?"

"Well, no, but -"

"You have the awareness," Kenma says. "You know when you hurt people. You want to take care of people. That's what makes you different."

Sometimes he doesn't know what he'd do without Kenma to support him. He'd probably be even more of a mess than he is now, if he's honest with himself. But the thing is that this past year, things have gotten somewhat... weird between himself and Kenma. Or maybe they've always been weird, but he's only just now noticed it.

Kenma is different from any other friend he has. He's different from Yaku or Kai or the guys he plays soccer with on weekends or Bokuto from Fukurodani who he jokes around with at practice camps. He's on a completely different level. Sometimes, to Kuroo, it feels less like he's a friend and more like he's a partner - not just in volleyball, but in everything. He's not sure what to do with that thought, what it could possibly mean. 

But then they get to Nationals. They make it through qualifiers in the spring and Kuroo's lifelong dream of going to Nationals is fulfilled, and once again, he makes an effort. He tells his father and his grandparents that they've made it to Nationals. His father says, "That's great, Tetsurou" and then turns back to his paper. His grandparents congratulate him, at least, but nothing else.

They don't show up to Nationals, of course. Kuroo hadn't been expecting them to. Kenma's parents are in the stands, though, and they give Kuroo a proud wave. It turns out that they'd brought signs for both himself and Kenma, which of course Kenma seems to hate, but Kuroo finds hilarious.

The games they play are tough. They make it through a few matches, struggling through each match, but then they face their 'fated rival' Karasuno. And it's after that match, after they get knocked out of the tournament, that Kuroo realizes. 

Kenma gazes up at him, his eyes big, and grins as he says, "Kuro, thank you for getting me into volleyball." It's everything that he's ever wanted to hear Kenma say. But he also realizes that he would do anything in the world to see that smile.

Because he's in love with Kenma.

Because it has always been Kenma. From the beginning, it's been Kenma who's been by his side, supporting him and encouraging him to be better. It's Kenma who has been a family to Kuroo when no one else would; it's Kenma who joined a volleyball team so that Kuroo wouldn't have to join alone and has stuck to it for years and years now. It's Kenma who means more to Kuroo than anyone else ever could. To him, no one could ever compete with Kenma. 

He swallows hard, his eyes welling up already. He's in love with his childhood best friend, who is very obviously a guy. He can't imagine what his family would say. Well, maybe they wouldn't care - just as they don't care about anything else about Kuroo's life. This would be yet another time where he wouldn't actually mind that much. 

But the main problem is that Kenma doesn't feel the same way. There's no way he could. Kenma's never shown any indication of being interested in stuff like that, much less with Kuroo.

So Kuroo makes up his mind to keep his mouth shut. He's not sure he could take a rejection from Kenma. It would sting more than any other rejection he's gotten ever could.

.

His graduation day is the first time in years that his father and grandparents have shown up to an event in his honor. Kuroo's not exactly sure he wants them there, but doesn't want to discourage them from making an effort, so he doesn't tell them to leave. It feels kind of nice to not have to explain to anyone why his family isn't there or try to make an excuse for them so he doesn't seem like he has a super messed up family.

He watches them during the ceremony, though. His grandparents keep muttering stuff to each other. And then, fifteen minutes into the ceremony, his father's phone starts ringing loudly. His father jumps up, a stricken expression on his face, but he doesn't shut the phone off. Instead, he walks out to answer it.

People around him start muttering. Kuroo's ears burn.

After the ceremony, Kuroo's father approaches him. "Sorry, Tetsurou," he says. "I didn't mean to interrupt your ceremony. It was an important phone call, though. I'm sure you understand."

Kuroo is tired. He's tired of pretending, of faking, of being the one to safeguard the fragile peace they've built between them. He's tired of never speaking his mind. And today, of all days - he shouldn't have to be.

"No," Kuroo says. "I don't, actually."

His father doesn't say anything for a moment, just stares back at him helplessly. "Tetsurou, it was an important client. One that we can't afford to lose."

"I don't give a shit if it's an important client," Kuroo replies angrily. "This was an important day for me. It's my graduation day, okay? It's the only high school graduation I'll ever have. And now my memory of it is tainted by my father embarrassing me in front of the entire school. So no, I don't understand. I don't understand how you can be so selfish."

"Tetsurou," his father says, and Kuroo waits. He waits for an apology, a sign of regret, anything. Anything at all.

He doesn't get anything.

"My work is very crucial," he says instead. "I'm sorry if you can't understand that."

It's cold and detached. There's nothing more to be said.

So Kuroo leaves him. Kuroo walks away, and he goes straight to Kenma.

"What's going on with you?" Kenma asks quietly. "Your dad?"

He knows. He always knows.

"He's an asshole," Kuroo says. "He's a self-centered jerk who doesn't give a shit about anything but work and money, and I hate him, Kenma, I hate him. I don't ever want to see him again."

"You deserve better than him," Kenma says. "But he's never going to change, Kuro. You're going to university, and you're going to leave him behind, but he's not going to change. Maybe it's time you just... leave him behind for good."

Kuroo looks down at Kenma, his eyes wet, and something possesses him. Something that he can't explain. Because though it is his body, it's certainly not him that leans down and kisses Kenma flat on the mouth. 

And then he realizes what's going on and jerks back, his eyes huge. "Shit," he says. "Oh my god, Kenma, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..." He waits for what he knows is coming. Disgust. Kenma saying he doesn't ever want to see Kuroo again. Kenma being angry at him. Kenma yelling at him like he had with Yamamoto.

But that's not what he gets. 

"Oh," Kenma says. Just that: oh. He looks thoughtful, almost. "So that's what that was all about."

"What  _ what _ was all about?!"

"You acting weird," Kenma replies. "You've been acting differently around me for a while. I guess that's why."

Kuroo has no idea what's going on. He blinks, staring back at Kenma with big eyes. "Kenma, I..."

"You love me," Kenma finishes before Kuroo can find the words. "A graduation is a bit of an overdone place for a confession, but I accept anyways, I guess."

A shiver runs down Kuroo's spine. How had he figured that out - and what a little shit to criticize his method of confession! Before he can fully process his emotions, though, he starts laughing, which is quickly followed by tears running down his face. A bittersweet cacophony - just like this entire day has been.

"You love me too?" Kuroo asks, pulling Kenma tight to his chest. "Really?"

"I thought you'd think it was weird," Kenma mumbles against his chest. "But... yeah. I do."

It's those words, more than any other, that he'll treasure for the rest of his life. I do. He does. He accepts Kuroo, loves him for everything he is and everything he's not. Where his family has failed him, there's always been Kenma.

There always will be.

He kisses Kenma again, tasting of tears and joy, and Kenma intertwines their fingers, giving his hand a squeeze. I love you, his touch says, and more importantly: I understand you.

.

Kuroo moves out of his cold, empty house. He chooses an apartment closer to the center of Tokyo, close to the university that he attends, and slowly he starts to shut out his family. He doesn't reply to his father's messages or calls. He focuses on his schoolwork, volleyball (as he's playing for his university's team) and his newfound relationship with Kenma.

And then he gets a different call: this time from the hospital.

"Your father suffered a heart attack early this morning," the doctor tells him. "We did our best to care for him, but he passed away in our care."

Kuroo lowers the phone slowly, his hand shaking. That he hadn't been expecting. Not at all. And he feels... more confused than ever. Relieved. Upset. Confused. 

Kenma is his rock in the next few weeks, helping him to plan the funeral along with his grandparents, helping him to make all the arrangements. And then before he knows it, he's standing at his father's grave with Kenma by his side after the funeral. 

"I should be sad," Kuroo says. "I'm an orphan now."

"You don't have to be," Kenma says. "He was a terrible father."

"I hated him," Kuroo says. "I didn't reply to him for so long, because I hated him. And I still do. I hate him. Is that awful?" Something breaks inside of Kuroo, and the tears start dripping down his face again, hot and heavy. "Maybe I should've been more gracious. Maybe he was doing his best."

"His best wasn't shit," Kenma says, but he steps forward, wrapping his arms tight around Kuroo. And Kuroo clings back tightly. 

"I wish things would've been different," Kuroo says into Kenma's hair, or at least he tries to. "I wish I could have... I wish he could have..."

"I know," Kenma says, rubbing his back. "I know. And I'm sorry." 

Kenma keeps mumbling things into Kuroo's shoulder as Kuroo cries, little reassurances, and Kuroo clings to him, his hands tight on Kenma's back. "I love you," Kuroo whispers hoarsely after he starts to calm down. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." Kenma's cheeks are pink, but he voices the words nonetheless: a phrase that Kenma finds difficult to say, but probably knows that Kuroo needs to hear about right now. "And... I brought this for you. Just in case you wanted closure."

It's a vase of yellow chrysanthemums. Kuroo takes it from Kenma slowly. He hesitates for a second, but he knows Kenma's right. He needs closure.

He sinks down to his knees in front of the stone, placing the flowers in front of the grave. "Goodbye, Dad," he whispers. "I'm sorry that it turned out this way. I really am."

He keeps his head bowed for a few minutes longer, his eyes shut, before he pushes himself back up to his feet. As they walk away towards the setting sun, Kenma reaches out to him, offering him a hand. 

Kuroo doesn't hesitate before he takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Kuroken Day!!  
> Honestly, this is kind of depressing for a Kuroken Day fic, but I feel like it gives a glimpse into why I ship Kuroken as much as I do, so I wanted to post it today. I'm really nervous about this fic because it's different than any other fic I've written, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! (Also, I can't help but feel really bad for Kuroo after writing this.)  
> Also, the title and intro are Posthumous Forgiveness by Tame Impala, which inspired me to write this fic, honestly. Check it out if you get a chance.


End file.
